


Ad Astra Per Aspera

by sickbed_00



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Chivalry, Forced Bonding, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Mating, Robin Hood References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickbed_00/pseuds/sickbed_00
Summary: Kylux A/O historical request! Robin Hood-inspired tale where Armitage Hux is forced out of his rightful place as Lord of Nottingham due to his being born an Omega. Resistance is building among the people though as they are not happy with his arranged marriage and the tyrannical rule of Sheriff Tarkin. Meanwhile, a young knight is tasked by a dying friend to put Hux on the throne in order to save Nottingham. He was not properly warned that the beautiful red-head was no damsel in distress...





	1. Omne Initium Est Difficile - Every Beginning Is Difficult

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyP15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyP15/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://imgbb.com/)   
> 

The weight of the crown was far more than Lord Armitage Hux had anticipated.

It was a simple trinket; bands of gold elegantly woven to make a loose braid. At each cross over, a small, solitary emerald was set in a reflection of Hux’s Irish bloodline. As he rose from his bended knee a small whisper went through the crowd of onlookers that filled Arkanis Castle. So, it was true. The sole son of Lord Brendol Hux would truly concede to marriage. And to a dark-eyed foreigner, no less.

Hux looked over to his new husband, who was now taking his knee to be fitted with a crown of his own. The officiant said some heady words, meaningless words. Hux paid them no mind. His new husband’s crown was a bit more impressive; in lieu of emeralds, he had diamonds mined from Africa, as well as iridescent fresh water pearls from the Alderaan Reaches.

No, not impressive, _gaudy_ ; like his dress. Hux had decided on a simple white tunic for the ceremony, neatly cinched at the waist and dressed up with his best leather boots. His husband chose to use the occasion to impress his wealth upon the community. Though Spanish his origin, he boasted a fashionable lace collar from Paris and white leggings and trunk hose bottoms from London that had made Hux snicker upon seeing them.

“He looks like a duck with those foolish things,” Hux had explained to his father’s unamused glare.

“Arise,” the officiant commanded in the same dull tone he had been speaking with for the last hour and a half. “And turn.”

The two men did as was instructed.

The finely dressed lords and ladies of Nottingham were all smiles. It was a great relief to know Lord Armitage, the fair Omega of their county, was now properly wed. They greatly attributed the unrest of Nottingham to the lack of proper governance. Brendol had been an absent drunk and as an Omega Armitage had no authority to rule. No doubt the handsome foreigner would fatten him up with many pups, which would mean future brokerage for land and riches from other counties.

As far as Hux was concerned, the constant strife that had become a hallmark of Nottingham was the fault of poor stewardship. These lords and ladies only had themselves to blame for riots and murders and thievery. The grand celebration for his loveless marriage had cost enough to feed all of Nottingham for a year and a half, but what did they care?

What did anyone care?

“By the powers vested to be by His Royal Majesty, King Hannibal Solo of England and Her Royal Majesty Queen Leia Organa Solo, I pronounce these two wedded. May good fortune, many children and long life be afforded to thee; Lord Armitage Hux of Nottingham and Lord Poe De Maron of Castilla Jakku.”

The crowd tastefully applauded. From the alcoves, a young hand maiden came out and held out a pillow with a gold orb with Latin inscription wrapped around it. Hux slowly removed the useless object that had been so attractively presented to him and turned to see Poe being presented with a fine scepter. 

Hux bristled inwardly. The paraphernalia was a must at any marriage of an Alpha and Omega. Outward symbols of the roles the men were meant to adhere to. Hux wanted to take the orb and smash it upon the ground, but such an act would do him no good now. He was married, his name penned beside Poe’s in the great tomes that charted their family’s respective histories.

“Walk with me,” Poe said in his strange accent, holding out his free hand. With a deep sigh, Hux consummated the gesture.  

Two more handmaids walked before them back down the aisle, spreading fresh rose petals across the satin runner. Hux tried to focus on the good his marriage would bring; Poe brought many treasures from his Spanish province, a place rich with wine and saffron and beautiful horses. Perhaps, once he saw the state of Nottingham, he might be inclined to spread the prosperity. Especially…

…Hux swallowed hard as they entered the great hall…

Especially if his children were to be raised in Nottingham.

A feast of wild pheasant was served alongside roasted roots and mushrooms and pears soaked in the Spanish wine. Thick, white slices of pandemain bread slathered in fresh churned butter were walked around by the hand maids and, of course, the ale flowed without end. Bards sang songs about love and summertime. The rafters of the hall were filled with the many family banners of the Nottingham nobles.

Hux allowed himself to enjoy the festivities but little. His eyes were constantly following his father, Lord Brendol Hux, and the heartless Sheriff Tarkin as they chatted and meandered around the hall.

It was their scheming that had gotten him into this mess with Poe De Maron. Hux had, by their admission, grown too smart for his own good. The best was to keep an Omega busy was marry him off and fill him with pups. Hux agreed to the marriage to buy himself some time, but he had no interest in being a mother just yet.

 “I wish to retire,” Poe said suddenly, getting to his feet.

“Then retire,” replied Hux, “do not let me keep you.”

“You are my bridegroom; you will come with me.”

Hux merely shrugged as he reached for the pitcher to pour another pint of ale.

“I don’t want to.”

It was clear the wealthy Alpha had never encountered such insolence, especially from a person he had just, for all intents and purposes, made his property.

“My English is not so bad that I am not making myself understood,” Poe tried again, speaking slowly and enunciating each vowel.

“I understand you perfectly; you wish to retire,” Hux pointed to the stairs, “it is that way to our bed chamber.”

“And you will come with me? We are married now.”

“Yes, we are married. But I am quite enjoying myself. If you wish to rest, go rest alone.”

Poe stood there only for a moment; no doubt aware of the stares their argument was drawing. With a cut bow, he wished Hux and good night and disappeared into the crowd.

The guest did little to hide their displeasure. Loud whispers weaved through the strumming of the bard’s lute, speaking words like _cruel_ and _selfish_ and _proud_.

“What’re you doin’?” Brendol staggered up to the high table, his ginger and grey beard matted with dried ale. He wheezed horribly as he spoke as his old leather jerkin, the last item of clothing that still fit around his barrel like frame, was still a bit too tight. “You run him off?”

“He was tired,” Hux said coolly, “I told him where he might go to rest.”

“He don’ wanna rest, boy. Tis yer weddin’ night!”

“I know what night-”

“I don’ think ya do!” Brendol barked.

“I do know!” Hux shot to his feet. Some of the party guest looked to spy on the commotion, others pretended not to notice but kept their ears open. “And just because I’ve married a man doesn’t mean I have to lie with him!” 

Brendol began to sputter something, but Hux had lost all patience for his father; for this charade. He headed outside to clear his mind.

The air was thick with the scent of lilac and the briny North Sea beyond the cliffs of which Arkanis Castle was snuggly built in. Hux strained to hear the waves over the laughter and music coming from the great hall but it was of no use. He thought to wander down through the twisting trails that led to the precipice upon which he might gaze out upon the waters, but the night was moonless, and he had been drinking too greatly.

A slow movement caught Hux’s eye down at the trail’s edge.

Soldiers, at least ten of them, walking single file around the perimeter of the castle.

He had to give Brendol some credit; the old drunk was rightly suspicious that his son was communicating with the many resistance groups around Nottingham. Bit by bit, he had been adding more men to his personal infantry to keep Hux close to the castle.

Now that he was married, the law forbade Hux from leaving the castle grounds without his mate. And once with child and fully showing, those restrictions would grow tighter. Even his movement within the castle would be limited to his own quarters as it would not be proper for anyone to see him in ‘that condition’.

A sudden pop echoed through the night and Hux jumped at its suddenness. His panic quickly melted into joy at the sight of white-yellow sparks shooting up on the horizon. Again and again, the lights would flash in time with a thundering crack, a noise which drew the party out onto the balcony.

“Are those fireworks?” A woman asked.

“Yes! I think so! How marvelous!”

“How on earth did Lord Brendol get those?”

 _He didn’t_ , Hux smiled to himself. Across the harbor was the small village of Sherwood, the home of the fiercest resistance group who wished to see Armitage Hux rule the throne of Arkanis Castle. In his heart Hux knew the sight was for him; a reminder from his people and their ferocity to fight for his birth right.

It was the finest wedding gift Hux could have received.

 

* * *

 

Ren woke up with an icy rush of salt water up his nose.

He coughed and hacked and struggled to flip himself over on to his back. Once there, he could finally breathe, his vision filled with the sight of low grey clouds and circling sea cliffs.

For a moment Ren Solo was a man with no purpose; a man with no future, no past. With each rush of the tide over his limp frame though, a new memory revealed itself. Soon, Ren’s life began to play as small vignettes with sun-soaked edges; his youth in the Alderaan Reaches with his grandfather hunting foxes on horseback, summers with Uncle Luke out in Wales learning archery and swordsmanship.

His parents wedding, his mother’s coronation.

The war, the carnage.

“Ren!” Ren lifted his head to see who was calling, only to have it immediately fall back into the damp sand.

He was weak, malnourished. His troop had been captured by pirates three months prior in Tripoli and they endured every pain that could be inflicted without bringing death. The pirates had been under the assumption that the English knights were in possession of stolen treasures from Egypt, a place where tomb raiding went unchecked. They had been tortured with the hope they would reveal their hoard. Had it not been for Sir Rae Sloane, a well-traveled knight who spoke fluent Arabic, the pirates would have killed them upon learning there was nothing to be gained. Sloane managed to convince them to return her and Ren and their troop to England and…

…and?

 “Ren!” The voice was close now. Ren heard someone, felt someone, kneel down beside him.

“Sir Ren, you’re alive!”

“Phasma?” Ren blinked wearily into the pale face of his friend. “Phasma…”

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m not sure,” Ren shook his head, “I remember the capture in Algiers, seeing the African coast as we sailed away…”

A rough hand touched his cheek. Ren was suddenly aware of how grossly thick his facial hair was.

“There was a storm,” Phasma’s clear eyes searched his, looking for a spark of a memory, “the ship capsized, they had us in the hull…do you remember?”

“It smashed on the rocks,” Ren said slowly, the terrifying ordeal bobbing up to the surface of his mind. The whole ship had been split in two. Black waves rushed in and dragged both pirate and knight alike screaming to their deaths. “Phasma, are we the only survivors?”

“Come,” Phasma reached down to hook Ren’s arm over her neck to life him, “there is a group of us in the shelter of the cliffs.”

The group was six; five men who, though badly battered, were able to sit up right. The sixth was a woman laid out in bandages damp with blood. As Phasma dragged Ren closer to the scene, the knight felt his heart drop.

“Sloane, no…,” his voice trembled, “no…”

It was amazing to even Ren himself he could recognize her. Sloan’s handsome face was horribly bruised and swollen. The hair she had worn in tight dreadlocks had been cut at the scalp, leaving deep digs all around her head.

Phasma let him down at her side.

“Sir Ren?” Her voice gurgled. Blood stained her teeth.

“Tis I,” Ren whispered, “my brave friend; what did they do to you?”

Sloane smiled and shook her head.

“It will not matter soon. Please, Ren, listen…my time is short…”

“Don’t say that,” Ren took her hand, the strong hand that once wielded a great broadsword as if it were an apprentice’s toy.

“There is no time for such talk, Sir Ren. I need you, all of you, to fulfill one last task for me.”

“We’re listening,” said Phasma.

“As a young woman, I served as a knight to a Lord Brendol Hux of Nottingham. He had a son, a boy wise beyond his years, who had the misfortune of being born on an Omega. His father was cruel to him…beat him…but the boy remained strong. He is an exceptional young man, but I fear what his father,” Sloane’s eyelids began to flutter, “…his father will never give him the throne…he deserves…”

“You wish for us to find this Omega?” Ren asked.

“Yes; the last I heard there is great strife in Nottingham, the people are not happy. You must go there and give the people their king,” a small smile tugged at Sloane’s lips, tears glistened in her fading eyes, “Armitage Hux, he is the true king…tell him I said so, tell him…I always…always loved him…like a son.”

And she was gone.

The sun set over the hillside.

The broken knights sat in silence around their friend, quiet tears streaming down their cheeks.

Ocean waves roared onto the shore then slipped unnoticed back into the sea.


	2. Semper Fidelis - Always Faithful

A full moon had waxed and waned since the wedding, and still Hux would not go to his husband. The first few nights were easily dismissed as mere shyness from the new bride. Though clearly vexed, Poe let long hours in a cold, lonesome bed pass without complaint.

When whispers of the new lord of Nottingham’s frustrations began to circulate around the halls of Arkanis Castle, Hux suddenly fell ill with violent bouts of nausea and vomiting. He was immediately quarantined in the infirmary until he was well enough to keep a meal down.

After this, Poe decided to take his complaints directly to Lord Brendol.

 “I dearly wish to have a son by next summer,” Poe said one morning over breakfast. The two were in the north tower facing the sea, a balmy breeze billowing the sheer dressings of the arched windows.

“Did I not promise you many sons?” Brendol asked, “Do not be deterred by this illness; Armitage is healthy and strong. Our physician has assured me many times he could carry up to three pups, a full litter!”

“He is a challenging creature,” Poe mused, “the moment he was out of the infirmary, he was asking about his garden. He’s been out there every morning. It’s charming, in a way. He walks those grounds as it were his own tiny kingdom.” He looked to Brendol with a crestfallen expression, his dark eyes desperate for an answer. “What am I to do?”

“Assert yourself as his mate,” Brendol said glibly. Poe was somewhat taken aback to hear a father talk of his son in such a manner. It certainly was his right now as Hux’s Alpha and the proper lord of Nottingham. Compliance was a promise of their betrothal, and if it was not given with the proper grace and dignity an Omega was meant to embody, then certain corrective actions would need to be taken.  

“Armitage is a proud boy, but it is time he learns his place,” said Brendol, “I half expected in the end it would come to this. This or a good whipping!” Brendol roared with laughter. “More than one way to skin a cat, eh Poe?”

“I would just rather he chose our bedchamber over a garden.”

“Do not worry, if you wish for a proper mating, Hux is well due for a heat cycle. Wait long enough and he’ll come crawling to you!”

“There is always that,” Poe let his mind wander as Brendol tucked into another serving of sausages and buttered rye bread.

He still found himself amazed to be sitting as lord of a small English county along the frigid North Sea. Considering all the options had been presented to him, all the affluent families and rich kingdoms who vied for his company at their courts, the meager Nottingham felt like a consolation prize. Something a man might settle for once all other options were exhausted.

In truth, Lord Brendol had never reached out to him. It was in the home of a young marque and dear old friend of Poe did he see a portrait of an elegant young man with skin as white as fresh milk and fiery red hair that could shame the sun.

His stoic expression entranced Poe.

“An English Omega; Armitage Hux,” the dismissive tone was the first time Poe heard his name. “I hear rumor he is ten times more lovely to behold in person, but has the temper of a viper. Not to mention his county is poor in resources and fraught with conflict. My father will not let me consider him.”

But Poe’s father was dead, which left him free to seek out the fierce and beautiful Armitage.

The first time they met in the great hall of Arkanis Castle, Hux presented as an ominous figure in a long black tunic, hands neatly folded behind his back. Everything about him was clean and tidy, even his shoulder length hair framed itself perfectly around the sharp angles of his face. Whoever had painted him did not have access to colors that could convey the intense contrast of Hux’s orange-red hair against his pale eyes and skin. Nor was his hand skilled enough to give all the soft detail of his pouty lips that managed to look so kissable while being pulled into a sneer.

Poe wanted to kiss those lips. He wanted to take the perfect Armitage Hux and hold him down and make him cry and beg and pant like an animal. Pin his wrist to the bed and feel his knot swell inside the whimpering, broken man.

“Believe me, the sooner he is with child the better,” Brendol’s words pushed into Poe’s thoughts. Poe squirmed a bit in his seat, attempted to hide his half-erection. “I think it will solidify your presence here and force the people of this county to understand that you are here to stay.”

“Yes, yes, of course…”

“After all; who would plan a revolt for a pregnant man?”

 

* * *

 

 

The castle garden was alive with the fresh colors of spring. Primroses bloomed in a cheery golden-yellow, violets did their namesake no disservice. Tall hyacinths in soft pastels swayed in the breeze and Hux’s pride, a well-groomed apple tree, showered the pathways in the white blossom petals.

The apple tree was not the full extent of the vegetation. Behind a small wooden fence, Hux had a collection of radishes and carrots and fennel ready the be served up in lighter fare for the summer.

To his great displeasure though, his eyes caught sight of a lopsided hole that had been clearly gnawed through the side of said fence. Not far was a little brown rabbit nibbling at some cabbage. Hux carefully crept up behind the creature and grabbed it by it’s scruff.

 “Think yourself a clever boy, hm?” Rabbit looked at him with vapid eyes, nose twitching. “This is a warning; if I catch you in my garden again, I’ll skin you alive and turn you into a stew!” Hux tossed the creature aside and watch it bound through the garden and scurry under a small hole in the wall.

Hux glanced up to the parapet walk where the guards watched him with half interest. They mostly talked amongst themselves while capriciously glancing around the garden to make sure the young lord was still there, and alone.

They were not keen enough to take note of Hux’s actions, nor were they well versed on what flowers and herbs he grew in his garden. Not an eye batted as Hux approached a patch of bright magenta foxglove. Casually he plucked a few of the unopened pods at the top of the flowering stem and slipped them into the pocket he had sewn on the inner waistline of his hosen.

The poisoning had been far worse than Hux had anticipated. It would have been more ideal to have slipped the foxglove into Poe’s drink or meal, but such an opportunity never presented itself. So, Hux subjected himself to the constant vomiting and evacuation of his bowels. As awful as it was, it had kept him safe for another month. Such a tactic though could not work long term. There was always the risk that he could take too much, and Hux’s next visit to the infirmary could be his last.

Hux touched the small lump in his hosen where the pods rested and slowly moved the hand up to meet its mate on his stomach.

The foxglove could be useful in more desperate situations, but Hux could not bring himself to consider such things. The idea left him utterly heartsick. No matter how dire, he could not let this situation suck in an innocent. Not when there were so many others more deserving of death; his father, the Sheriff, all the miserable elitist that would rather watch Nottingham burn than lift a single finger to help it.

 _No_ , Hux thought, a small promise to the child he might come to bear, a small promise to the kind knight, Sir Rae Sloane, who had patiently taught him how to navigate the grey morals of the world. _I will be above their senseless cruelty._ Hux knew he had a small army outside the thick stone walls of Arkanis Castle. He had soldiers devoted to his desire to bring Nottingham together under his sure hand. They followed him because of what he could do, not what he was. No marriage, no law, no child could stop him from attaining his destiny.

 _Still_ , Hux though as he followed the trail that led from the gardens down to the crack willows that lined the east wall, _time is running short._ Since the age sixteen, Hux routinely began hitting a heat cycle around midsummer and the miserable sweat and slick would not end until September. It was easy now to make such promises to a non-existent child when the skies were clear and sunny. Once in heat though, Poe’s advances would be impossible to ignore. And carrying the heir of the recognized lord of the county would deeply compromise his position.

He had to get rid of his enemies before his heat came. After that, Hux knew he might have to cast aside the morals Sir Sloane had so patiently taught to him.

 “M’lord?” A small voice, barely louder than the chirping larks caught Hux’s ear. Hux pushed aside a curtain of the willow branches to see two dark eyes looking at him through a hole in the castle wall.

“Thanisson,” he gasped with delight, “I was worried you would not make it.”

“I might say the same,” the little eyes wrinkled with a smile. Hux gave the guards one last glance over his shoulder before kneeling down beside the hole.

 “Tell me, do you bring any news?”

“We have secured twenty more men from Endor, a small village within Sherwood Forest. They have fully pledged allegiance to you. Apparently, Sheriff Tarkin named them as part of Nottingham and has, more or less, robbed them of all they have!”

“That miserable bastard,” Hux muttered, “but I am grateful for their pledge. Oh,” he gasped, reaching into the front pocket of his tunic to remove a coin purse, “before I forget; it is not much, only fifty shillings, but I fear the bookkeeper might notice if I take away more than that.”

“’Tis more than enough!” Thanisson pulled the little pouch through the hole, “We should be able to buy some food and blankets for the poor staying at The Dagobah Tavern.”

“Have more come to stay?”

“Aye,” Thanisson said sadly, “mostly widows and their babes.” Hux sighed.

“I wish there was more I could do but I’m bloody trapped like fox in a snare!”

“Just stay strong, M’lord. Mitaka and I are doing all we can out here.”

“Thank you,” Hux said quietly. As much as he loved his friends, Mitaka and Thanisson, they were only young nobles like himself. Hux knew they needed a leader, a true hero to lead his rebellion.

But how on earth was he to find such a person?

 

* * *

 

 

As the sun sank into the west, the little candles in the windows across Nottingham were one-by-one brought to life. In the meager light, families huddled around the remains of their savings, trying to find a way to pay for food in the coming weeks. Children cried quietly as they slurped watery soups that did nothing to quell their pangs of hunger. Old couples curled up in bed together, too cold to consider anything else.

On the far side of town, past the brothels that smelled of opium and spice, past the poor houses where the men gathered steps to pass around a jug of wine, a small tavern sat near the water’s edge. If one was not looking, they would easily miss it. The swinging sign above the door had been worn down by the sea air.

Thanisson knew his way to the old Dagobah Tavern by heart. When he arrived, he found the place packed to the rafters with the disgruntled citizens of the county. The air smelled of beer and tobacco and sweat but no one dare complain. With each meeting, the Nottingham militia was growing in numbers and strength. The time for action was nigh.

In the corner, Thanisson noticed a small group, maybe about six or so, huddled around a table. They were all dressed in black hoods that barely covered their war belts, fully stocked with daggers and whips and swords. At their center was a man who, in the faint light of the tavern, seemed to be wearing more of a deep forest green cloak. His features were more hidden, all Thanisson could see was his lips puffing away at a long pipe.

“Thanisson!” A voice called out from the front of the crowd. Dopheld Mitaka, a young noble with glossy black eyes and hair, was standing on a small dais with the tavern owner and a few of the other group leaders.

“Coming, coming, coming,” Thanisson muttered as he pushed his way to the front.

“Were you able to meet with him?” Mitaka asked once Thanisson was at his side.

“Yes, and he gave me the tidings for the week; fifty shillings.”

 “And not a moment too soon,” Mitaka said with a great sigh of relief, “I do not know how much longer some of these people can survive.” The tenants of the tavern were mostly hidden away upstairs. Many of them still owed taxes to the county and needed to stay out of sight, less the Sheriff find them and drag them off to the stocks or, worse yet, the gallows.

“We have to begin a plan of attack,” said Thanisson, “I do not know if you realize it, but it’s been a month since Armitage married. He is a sly man but how long do you think he can evade his new husband? Especially with his monstrous father still in the castle!”

“That is what we will be discussing tonight,” said Mitaka. “Go on, grab a seat. We will begin the meeting shortly.”


	3. Lex Mala Lex Nulla - A Bad Law Is No Law

The crowd was anxious. Hopelessness had bred desperation as they knew Hux’s marriage to the Poe De Maron gave the Sheriff and the Nottingham nobles a stronger foothold in their agenda. Voices of men and women cried out at the host, demanding answers to what would be done if Lord Armitage were to become with child.

 “Lord Amritage is being careful as he can,” Mitaka assured, “but I understand your concern.” Placating words were not enough for the villagers who had seen too many of their loved ones dragged off by the palace guards, too many of their crops burned in retribution for non-payment of taxes.

“We refuse to be terrorized by the Sheriff any longer!” A woman shouted out.

“We should just storm the bloody castle!” Another voice joined hers and the suggestion was met with boisterous agreement.

“Come now, you cannot be serious!” Mitaka cried to no avail. “We must have order, please!”

“Everyone, please, let’s not be hasty!” Thanisson rushed to his friend’s side, but his appeals too were lost in the cacophony of riotous villagers.

“Citizens of Nottingham; calm yourselves!” A booming voice brought the room to a standstill. The entire tavern turned all at once to see a man with glossy black hair loosely pulled back from his face, revealing a striking aquiline nose and a swarthy complexion dotted with moles. His eyes were an all-consuming black, only the thinnest gold rings around the pupils hinted at any humanity. Long, almost feminine lashes beautifully caged them.

Thanisson recognized his robe as the same forest green one he saw in the tavern corner, the hood now down and scrunched down behind the man’s thick neck.

“Sir, I fear I do not know your face,” said Mitaka, “do you mind sharing your name with us?”

“You may call me Kylo Ren,” his voice was low, his tone flat. There was not the slightest waver to indicate his nervousness or excitement about being the center of attention.

“And your fellows?” Mitaka raised a sharp eyebrow, “Are these the knights of Ren?”

Kylo Ren turned to the woman soldier beside him, her creamy blonde hair shorn down to the scalp on either side of her head. What remained sat in an untamable mop.

She gave Kylo Ren a passive shrug.

“They do not take offense to that.”

“Where have you come from?” Thanisson asked next. “You are clearly not from Nottingham County, nor from Sherwood. We would have heard of a,” he seemed in disbelief of the name he was about to utter, “Kylo Ren and his knights.”

“What difference does it make? We have come to assist you in your campaign. We are experienced knights, battle hardened and fearless. Must we be of your countrymen to take up arms?” A great silence followed this question. The people of Nottingham had never considered anyone would ever come to their aid, let alone knights who were bound to obey the laws of the land.

“But why?” Thanisson was the first to ask the obvious question. “What interest would you have in us?”

At this, Ren showed the first sign of any emotion. His features became soft, almost pitiable. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard against rising emotions.

“We fought alongside Sir Rae Sloane,” he began, lips trembling, “with her last breath she sent us here, to Nottingham, to give aid to the true lord of the land; Armitage Hux.”

Whispering words filled the room. Mitaka raised a hand and requested silence.

“Are you here to tell us that Sir Sloane is deceased?” He asked.

“I am afraid so,” the woman soldier answered. Once more, the crowd became uneasy.

“Please, everyone,” Mitaka raised his hand again before turning his attention back to the knights. “You must understand, Sir Sloane was quite admired around these parts. She was loyal to Lord Armitage and, therefore, loyal to the people of this land. This news, if true, is deeply devastating to our cause.”

“I tell you the truth,” said Ren, “she died as the result of a shipwreck in the Mediterranean. My fellow here, Sir Phasma,” he nodded to the woman soldier, “managed to pull many of us from the flotsam and drag us ashore. Unfortunately, Sir Sloane’s wounds were fatal; there was nothing we could to.”

“And her dying wish for you to come here?” Thanisson confirmed the rest of the story.

“Yes.”

“I think, in light of this new development,” Mitaka began, “it might be best if we adjourn this meeting for a later time. Ladies and gentlemen, shall we raise our glasses.” The tavern patrons lifted their varied goblets and steins.

“Long live Lord Armitage Hux,” Mitaka declared.

“Long live Lord Armitage Hux,” the crowd shouted back.

“ _Lex mala lex nulla_!”

 _“Lex mala lex nulla!”_ And everyone took a drink.

“That went well,” Phasma muttered.

“They didn’t kill us,” said Ren, “I will take a victory when I can get one.”

Mitaka soon approached from the crowd and introduced himself as one of the leaders of the Nottingham resistance. A bare minimum of pleasantries were exchanged before Mitaka insisted that he speak with Ren alone.

“I have decided that the process of vetting shall only include you, Sir Ren. I assume if your intentions are good, the same could be said of your men.”

“I would agree.”

“Excellent,” Mitaka glanced around Ren’s entourage, “as for you all; please help yourself to a drink at the bar.”

From there, Mitaka led Ren down a corridor lit with only the modest glow of the lantern he carried. Above them, Ren could hear voices and the shuffling of bodies.

“This tavern also serves as a safe house for those wanted by the Sheriff,” Mitaka explained, as if sensing Ren’s unease. “These are dangerous times, Sir Ren. Innocent people fear for their lives, the greed of the elite has become too great of a burden for us to bear. Here,” he halted before a thick navy curtain dotted with stars. Slowly, he drew the fabric aside to reveal a small table with two chairs. “Have a seat.”

“Quite the little set up,” Ren said, settling himself into one of the chairs.

“This is where Thanisson, my young cohort with the curly hair, often discuss our most private matters.” Mitaka was now lighting the few lamps that hung from the ceiling. “It is not much, especially compared to the great war rooms that conspire against us each day, but we are grateful.” Once satisfied that they had sufficient light, Mitaka closed the curtains over the cozy space and took the remaining seat.

“I am not going to waste any time; we need allies, but not so sorely that I am willing to let me guard down. What proof do you have that you knew Sir Sloane and that she sent you here to help us?”

“Proof?” Ren asked, “What more proof do you need than my word? As a knight, my word is my bond.”

“Oh, really?” Mitaka narrowed his eyes, “You are only men, sworn to an oath that holds no weight. Not in these parts anyway.”

“My oath to protect our mother England includes small counties along the sea,” Ren said with muted indignation. The small crack is his cool façade did nothing to shake Mitaka.

“Let me tell you what a knight is to me, Sir Ren.” Mitaka leaned back into his seat. “I was born an Omega to a successful mercantile family. My life was easy, carefree. A marriage between me and a tradesman with a handsome fleet stationed in the Orient had been set up well before my first heat. As it was, I would never know a day of work, save when I gave birth to my many children.

“Then one fool day I thought to go the riverbank, down south of Sherwood forest, to read and write poetry and all the things Omegas love to do,” Mitaka’s words were tainted with bitter sarcasm. “A knight passed by me on a white stallion, all pomp and good looks. He approached me to talk awhile, asked about my village and where he might find a place to sleep.” Here, Mitaka looked away, drawing a few deep breaths before continuing. “He beat me so badly…my memory of the afternoon is spotty at best. I do remember when he ripped off my hosen and forced my legs apart.

“He left me for dead by the river’s edge. A fisherman found me and brought me back to town. I lived, clearly, but I was spoiled forever. I cannot marry, at least not to someone from my former caste. My family will not speak to me or give me any aid.”

 “I am sorry to-”

“I do not need your pity,” Mitaka sharply cut off Ren’s words. “Just understand, being a knight means very, very little around these parts. My story is not unique.”

Ren released a great sigh.

 “I do not know how I can prove I knew Sir Sloane to you. She never told us about Nottingham until her death. Her lasts words were to tell Armitage that she had loved him like a son. That must mean something to you.”

“Armitage’s mother died when he was but a babe,” begrudgingly admitted, “Sir Sloane came into his life only a few years later. She doted on him, not in the cloying way some old nannies do, but as a real mother ought. She taught him how to read literature on law and history and war. Her position was meant to be one of a bodyguard but she was so much more to him,” Mitaka smile, “and he to her. It nearly broke him when she was sent away.”

“I served Sir Sloan, fought under her command. You may think I am a fool knight, but I make concessions for few. A few war stories and a shiny metal mean little to me. She was a true hero and my men and I are determined to fulfill her final wish.” Ren sat up straight in his seat. “Your motto, _lex mala lex nulla_ ; it means ‘A bad law is no law’.”

“Very good, Sir Ren. That is correct.”

“I assume this is because no law will recognize Amritage Hux as a proper Lord due to his status as an Omega?” 

“Indeed; the laws of this land have done little good for the people. Armitage possesses a cold demeanor,” Mitaka shook his head, “he can be difficult to approach. But he cares deeply about Nottingham and its citizens. Those who have interacted with him have found him to be quite sincere in his desire to save this county from corruption. He wants to lead Nottingham out of this deep mire his father and the Sheriff have dragged us in to.”

“Even if it means being outlaws?”

Mitaka nodded.

“If that means we must be outlaws, then so be it.”

“ _Lex mala lex nulla,_ ” said Ren, “if the laws do not serve the people, then there are no laws. Which means there are no outlaws.” Mitaka laughed.

“I suppose so.”

Ren stood from his seat and took a knee at Mitaka’s feet.

“If you will have us; I will pledge myself and my men to you and to that of the service of Lord Armitage Hux, rightful heir to the throne of Nottingham. Might I give all that I am to protect him and honor this oath.”

Mitaka put out his hand for Ren to take and together they rose to their feet.

“Welcome to the resistance, Sir Kylo Ren.

* * *

 

As Hux rose from his bath, he was greeted with three hand maids, all quick to get him dressed in a robe and touch fingertip dipped in sandalwood oil to his neck and wrist. They seemed happy to serve him, though Hux knew it was less about loyalty and more the fact that palace employment kept their families warm and fed.

“Dinner will be served in an hour, it will be attended by Lord De Maron, Sheriff Tarkin, your father and the Duke and Duchess Krennic. Dress is expected to be somewhat relaxed.” A ‘present’ from Poe was a new handmaid, a proper one who had worked in his own palace in Castile Jakku. She had only been introduced to him as ‘Rey’ and never did she indicate she had more of a name beyond that.

“What does that bloody old blowhard Krennic want?” Hux sneered as he perused his closet. Beside him he could hear Rey release an annoyed huff.

“He was not in attendance for your wedding; he and the Duchess would like to come and show proper respect to you and the new Lord of Nottingham.” Rey spoke with a refined English accent and carried herself with all the self-importance of a lady-in-waiting for higher ranking members of the Castile Jakku court. In her russet eyes though, Hux could read all the contempt she felt for him. Rey was protective of Poe and was clearly displeased with his choice of mate.

 “I suppose if they must,” Hux pulled out a narrow doublet of black and gold. “Aye, which one of these ladies is the strongest you think? I want whoever laces up the back to make it nice and tight! There will be no speculation this evening if I am with child or not!”

“There is no speculation, my Lord,” Rey said, her youthful face wrinkled in annoyance. “Everyone knows you have yet to lay with your husband.”

At this Hux froze, his lips pulled back into a thin line across his face.

“What occurs in my bedchamber is no one’s business,” Hux slowly closed the space between him and Rey. “And the next time you find yourself as a wheel in the rumor mill, I suggest you choose to repeat that. Do I make myself clear?”

Rey drew in a sharp breath through her nose.

“Yes-”

“M’lord!” A young girl’s shrill cry broke the tension, “You cannot! Please!” Both Hux and Rey ran out into the living suite, the former still in his robe. “Tis the masters quarters, tis not allowed!”

“Ingrid!” Rey demanded as they rounded the corner, “Who’s there?”

“Oh, please sir, _please_!” Ingrid continued to wail. “I will get such a lashing if Lord Brendol finds you here!”

What they found was Sheriff Tarkin, dressed in a dark grey _houppelande_ that made him appear like a frightful specter of death.

“If you do not cease you incessant wailing, I will beat you myself,” his voice was loud but tightly reigned in.

“You will do no such thing!” Hux motioned for the quivering girl to join his side. “Go on upstairs, I promise not a word of this will reach my father’s ears.”

“Yes M’lord, yes…,” Ingrid scurried back into the bedchamber.

“You should leave,” Rey firmly commanded, eyes fixed on Sheriff Tarkin, “no Alpha, save Lord Armitage’s husband, is allowed in his quarters!” At this, Tarkin made a small, unamused chuckle.

“And when will the long-suffering Poe De Maron make his debut in the royal bedchamber?”

“Not that I have to explain myself to you,” Hux said, squaring off his shoulders as if preparing for a fight, “but I have been quite ill as of late.”

“So your father has told me,” Tarkin’s icy eyes looked Hux up and down, “how convenient for you…”

 “Why are you here?” Rey suddenly snapped.

“Send this miserable wench up with the others,” Tarkin made a dismissive gesture, not even bothering to look at Rey, “you and I have a few issues we need to discuss.”

“I will not leave his lordship unattended in the presence of an Alp-” In one swift motion, Tarkin crossed the suite and grabbed Rey by the shoulder of her bodice and threw her into the wall. She made a horrible moan before crumbling to the floor, nose gushing with blood.

“Are you mad?” Hux approached. “Guards! Remove this man!”

“Guards?” Tarkin smirked, “Your guards are _my_ men, and they are currently indisposed. Now, you may be able to get by with your drunk father and that all-too-trusting Spaniard, but your little games do not work on me Armitage Hux.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Tarkin did not flinch, did not bat an eye. His face remained completely impassive as he slowly moved toward Hux.

“Your scent is changing, even an old Alpha like me can smell it. Summer is close at hand; your heat will be upon you before you know it…,” Tarkin shook his head, “what will you do then, clever boy?”

Hux thought of the rabbit in the garden, how its heart had raced while caught in his grip. His own heart was ready to burst through his chest with a mix of adrenaline and hatred

“I suggest you learn to behave”, Tarkin continued, “stop toying around in that little garden of yours, acting like no one knows what you’re up to. You are married now, your job is to sit, look pretty and make lots of little lords and ladies. Do you understand?”

“The people of Nottingham deserve better than that…”

“Even if they did, you are in no position to give it to them. What we truly need is alliances, and if I believe for one moment you are doing anything to thwart that goal,” Tarkin lowered his voice, “the gallows will too kind a fate.”

“Is that a threat?” Hux asked through gritted teeth.

“Take it as you will, but I believe I’ve made my point. See you at dinner,” he curtly bowed, “Lord Armitage.”

Once gone, Hux went right to Rey’s side.

“Come, let me have the other maids draw you a hot bath to help clean you up.”

“That is not necessary, Lord Armitage,” Rey was trembling, doing everything she could to keep herself from breaking down completely.

“Nonsense,” Hux put an arm around her waist, “no good deed goes unpunished, aye? It’s nice to know you can be a pain in an arse other than mine!”

* * *

 

Hux descended the stairs of Arkanis Hall struggling to breathe; a mix of his tight doublet and worry over Tarkin’s threat. The mention of the garden made him wonder if the old Sheriff had some knowledge of herbs and flowers and what potential the foxglove had. Few would be bold enough to bring up gallows with a lord, not unless they had real evidence that-

“Armitage?” A warm voice distracted Hux’s thoughts. At the bottom of the stairs was Poe, wear some colorful hosen and his awful trunk hose pants.

“Good evening, Lord De Maron,” Hux said, upon reaching his side.  

“Dear; you do not look well,” Poe said quietly, reaching up to draw the back of his knuckles down Hux’s cheek.  “Are you certain you want to join us this evening?”

“I,” Hux shook his head, utterly dumbfounded over Poe’s concern. “I’m all right, thank you.”

“I do not want you to overexert yourself if the illness still lingers-”

“Please,” Hux pushed Poe’s hand aside, “do not fret over me, if I say I am well, then I am well.”

“Of course; but if I may,” Poe presented the same hand now as an open palm, “let me walk you there?”

“Thank you,” Hux took the hand.

If the walls were moving in faster than expected, Hux knew was going to need more sympathetic members of the court on his side. Somehow, he was not sure, he would have to gain Poe’s trust without risking becoming with child.


	4. Res Firma Mitescere Nescit - A Firm Resolve Does Not Know How To Weaken

Poe politely fielded all the questions Duke Krennic lobbed at him. He knew he was an anomaly among the fair-skinned northerners; that there was no one who looked like him, spoke like him, dressed like him in all the little reclusive seaside county. Finding a mate in Spain or even Portugal would have been ideal, but as Poe slid his eyes sideways to catch small glimpses of his new bridegroom, all the verbal poking and prodding became worth enduring.

Hux quietly picked at his plate of fresh caught pike. There was nothing demure about the self-imposed silence and averted eyes. Hux was making it clear that he had no respect for Duke Krennic, nor that he held any interest in the pageantry of the Nottingham elite. Though bored and annoyed, Poe still found him to be the loveliest creature. Not even after his terrible illness, when Hux emerged pale and weak and terribly thin from the infirmary, did Poe feel repulsed in the clear physical change in his partner.

“I rather like your doublet,” Poe whispered to him. At his Hux looked up, brushing some of his hair behind his ear, his clear blue eyes meeting briefly with Poe’s. “The gold threading, it’s exquisite. And it compliments your red hair so nicely.”

Hux gave Poe a curious raise of his eyebrow before turning back to his pike.

“So, tell me Lord De Maron,” Duke Krennic broke the awkward tension around the table, “when can we start expecting a litter from you two?”

The clattering of Hux dropping his flatware on the plate echoed throughout the dining hall. Poe could actually sense every muscle inside Hux beginning to tighten and coil with frustration.

“Forgive me!” Poe said quickly. “I do not know how it is done here in England, but in my country such matters are only discussed between mates. But, rest assured, when Armitage and I are ready to make such an announcement, you will be the first to know.”

 “Of course, of course,” said Duke Krennic, “please, forgive me as well; but you must understand, with Armitage being Brendol’s only son we are anxious to have new blood.”

At this, Brendol made a gravely harrumph.

“That woman was as barren as winter! I was lucky enough to manage the one,” he pointed his fork in his son’s direction, causing Hux to roll his eyes.

“Are you so certain _she_ was the reason you could never manage more than one child?”

“What did you say?” Brendol shot to his feet. “You fly-bitten lil’ cur! How dare you!”

“Brendol! Come now!” Krennic half-laughed at the drunk lord. “No need for such vulgarity.”

“Aye, Orson,” Tarkin groaned, gesturing for Brendol to return to his seat. “our ungrateful little Omega has always struggled to learn his place.” He looked to Poe. “You would not be out of line to rebuke him, you know. Whether by word or by whip, Armitage is your mate now. And the sooner he learns to obey you, the better off we all shall be.”

“Mind your own bloody business, Tarkin,” Hux hissed.

“I think it might be best if I take Armitage out for some fresh air!” Poe stood suddenly, “He clearly is still not feeling well, are you dear?” At this, Hux turned sharply, an insult ready on his tongue. But Poe held his gaze. Every ounce of him trying to impart through his eyes alone that it might be best if they left the dining hall _now_.

 “Y-yes,” the Duchess Krennic, who had not spoken a single word since her arrival, nervously agreed, “of course, fresh air would probably be best.”

 “Come,” Poe offered a hand for his seething husband to take; just as he had on their wedding day. “Let’s get out of here.”

 Hux maintained a brisk pace through the halls of the castle. Poe was impressed but not surprised. Most of Hux’s height came from his long legs and being as feisty as he was, it made perfect sense that he would know how to use them to get out of an unpleasant situation.

Poe kept a good distance, it seemed best for him to remain a step or two behind. Besides, there was something so wonderfully hypnotic about how Hux’s red hair bounced with each step, back and forth over his shoulders.

 Once out in the garden, the moon muted his hair into something akin to the terra cotta tiles that made up the village rooftops back in Spain. A white halo circled Hux’s head and a faint glow was coming off his pale skin.  The garden around him was a high contrast of deep shadows and celestial light.

 “It’s lovely out here,” Poe said softly, just loud enough for Hux to hear. “I can see why you enjoy it.”

 “It was my mother’s garden,” said Hux, not bothering to look at Poe as he spoke. “She died when I was very young, a riding accident out in the forest, or so I have been told. I have no memories of her, I cannot even recall the sound of her voice.” He took a seat on a stone bench near a blossoming apple tree. Tentatively, Poe followed, careful to make sure he did not get close enough to irritate his husband.  “When I seek comfort, I come to her place. I walk among her flowers, I smell the scents and let them help me gather my thoughts.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“Of course you are,” Hux’s tone was cold.

“I am not heartless!” Poe huffed, “Despite what you might think, not every man is like your father.” This made Hux break into laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“My mother did not come from a family of means. She was a very poor match for a lord as powerful as Brendol. Yet, he pursued her, even without benefit of a dowry. He endeavored to make her his bride.”

“I fear I still do not understand the joke,” Poe said, shaking his head. “Perhaps, something is being lost in your translation?”

“I have been assured, from every peasant to every lord that had contact with my mother that she was the most beautiful girl in all of Nottingham.”

“I see,” Poe said quietly.

 “You came here because of your desire to find an attractive mate. If you had the slightest inkling of the turmoil this county is in, you would have stayed in Castile Jakku.”

“I will not deny that it was your beauty that brought me to this land,” said Poe, “that your beauty has kept me here despite the cold and wet. But I have also been charmed by your stubbornness, your fearless heart and your unyielding spirit. I know such things will make building a family with you a challenge. Within you though is the potential for a great mother; so, I am willing to be patient.”

For the first time, Hux looked at him; a pitying sort of look that Poe hated being caught in. It was strange to see Hux lay his guard down just enough to become curious about the well-being of another man.

“You are not a bad man, Poe De Maron,” he finally said, “as much as it pains me to admit it. But I do not want a child,” Hux barked a sad laugh, “I don’t even want to be married.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.”

“Nottingham needs its true lord; me.” Hux stood, back erect, “I am the only one who can rule-”

“Do you not trust me to-”

“No!” Hux cried, “And don’t you dare ever interrupt me again!”

Poe had taken all he could stomach. Angry heat rose into his cheeks, fingers curled into tight, almost painful fist.

“Whether or not you like it, I am not the lord of Nottingham and _you_ ,” Poe spat the single word, “you, Armitage Hux, are my bridegroom. I meant what I said, I am willing to work around you. But at the end of the day, we must play our roles. Understood?”

All expression left Hux’s face, the flat affect appearing unsettling in the wash of moonlight. White blossoms from the apple tree fell on Hux’s hair but he did not move to brush them away.

Poe had grown up on old ghost stories from the villages, his favorite being those of scorned lovers returning from the grave to exact their revenge. In that moment, Poe felt as though he were in the presence of some ethereal creature and suddenly all his frustration began to melt into fear.

“Keep talking to me like that, see where it gets you,” was all Hux said before turning to walk off into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

The arrow soared through the morning air and hit the target’s bullseye with a satisfying slap.

“Excellent shot, Ren,” Phasma congratulated as Ren reached for another arrow from the quiver on his back.

“Watch this,” Ren said coolly.

The next arrow whizzed through the air, splitting the first arrow in two.

“Where on earth did you learn to shoot like that?” Asked Phasma.

“My Uncle Luke taught me how. He lived on some craggy old island in the Inner Hebrides; nothing to do there but shoot kittiwake and rabbits. The only way you were guaranteed dinner was if you went out and hunted it yourself.”

“I can’t believe you’ve had this talent this whole time.”

“Archery has little use outside of castle walls. As much love as I have for it, the sword has always served me better.” Ren readied another arrow and sent it flying across the deserted thicket.

It missed by a fair measure.

“Bollocks!”

Phasma laughed.

“I’m obviously a bit rusty.”

“Do you think your arrows will serve us now?”

“I don’t know,” Ren shrugged, I’ve never committed regicide before.”

“That’ll be it then? Slaughtering every man in line for the throne until no one but Armitage left to sit on it?”

“What other plan is there? You heard those villagers last night, they know what must be done. This Armitage is an Omega, a married one no less. He has virtually no right to rule this land, no matter what the people want.” Ren looked across the wide clearing and sighed. “We made Sir Sloane a promise and, as bloody and gruesome as it might be, we will see it to the end.” He then tucked his bow under his arm and made his way to the bullseye.

“What will your parents say?” Phasma called after him. “Do you not think word of a violent coup will reach their ears?”

Ren paused for a moment before turning around to meet her gaze.

“I am certain it will.”

* * *

 

The next few days saw endless rain. Once cleared, Thanisson took his horse through the muddied fields and up to Arkanis Castle to meet with Hux. The back of the castle was guarded with a dense forest of ancient oak trees. Thanisson had to dismount and walk his horse through it to keep him from tripping on the roots snaking up from the ground. In the distance, he could hear angry waves crashing against the jagged cliffs that guarded Arkanis Castle from the sea.

Thanisson took a knee beside a stone at the base of the great castle wall, one that looked as inconspicuous as the next. Slowly, he eased his fingers into the seems around it and began to wiggle it out from its space

“M’lord?” He called into the little hold that opened up. Thanisson could feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. There was always the fear that no one would come, that Hux had been found out and locked away somewhere deep in the castle.

Or, worse; Thanisson was met with someone who was not his dear friend…

“Is that you Thanisson?” A wave of relief came over him at the sound of Armitage’s voice.

“Yes! Tis I!” Thanisson reached his hand into the hold, feeling Armitage’s meeting it half-way.

“I cannot begin to tell you how good it is to have you here again.”

“How is it in the castle?” Thanisson asked.

“Not ideal; I have been very lucky that my new husband, despite his desire for children, is keeping his distance. It’s that bloody Sheriff Tarkin,” Hux released an annoyed huff. “He suspects something, but how much I cannot speculate.”

“Do not talk like that; stars, you’d be sent to the gallows for treason!” Hux only laughed at this suggestion.

“Tarkin’s not reckless enough to do something like that. Brendol loathes me, but I am too valuable to him alive.”

“Some days I cannot tell if you are brave or just mad.”

“They are not mutually exclusive,” though Thanisson could not see his friend, he could hear the sly smile in Hux’s words. “Enough of this boring old castle; tell me, what is the word from Nottingham?”

Thanisson squeezed his friend’s hand.

“I have the most terrible news,” he began quietly, “we have been informed that Sir Sloane has recently passed away.”

A long silence followed, only the waves and crying gulls showed no reverence for the passing of Rae Sloane.

“Who told you this?” Hux suddenly asked.

“A man called Kylo Ren. He and his knights arrived in the village three nights ago.”  

“I have never heard this name,” Hux scoffed, “how can you be certain he is telling the truth?”

“Mitaka vetted him, and you knew how thorough he is.”

“How did he know Sloane?”  

“He said he was a knight who served under her, that she died in a shipwreck in the Mediterranean.”

“My father knew Sloane left his service for North Africa; this Kylo Ren could still be a spy!”

“He would be an expensive one as he arrived with six other knights. It would have been easier for your father or the Sheriff to pay off one of the pick-pockets in the stocks.” Thanisson drew a deep breath, “I’m sorry, M’lord, I believe this man is telling the truth. But take heart! The knights who battled alongside Sir Sloane have come to join your campaign!”

“I suppose that’s true,” Hux sighed. A childish part of him had hoped to see Rae Sloane again. Some nights he would dream of her return, and that he would finally be tall enough to look her in the eye and properly regard her with all the love and respect she deserved. That he could take her sword from her hand and tell her that her long days of combat and bloodshed were over.

“If it helps, Mitaka said Kylo Ren shared that Sir Sloane’s final words were that she loved you like a son.”

Thanisson waited once more in the indifferent sounds of the world around him as Hux collected his thoughts. There was now some rumbling of distance thunder, a new storm rolling in from across the sea.

“I have a little bit more coin for you,” Hux’s voice barely carried through the thick stone wall.

“You are too kind,” Thanisson said as he felt Armitage’s hand pull away, the warmth replaced with the weight of a leather satchel.

“Tell this Kylo Ren I look forward to meeting him,” Hux said, “now, I must do, we have dawdled long enough.”

“Of course; be safe, M’lord.”

Hux wandered back through his garden, under the half-hearted stares from the guards upon the parapet. Through the winding stone trails he kept his head high, kept his hands folded behind his back and walked with the confident stride of a young lord in his castle. Once in the shadow of the arched garden entry, Hux collapsed against the wall. His body shook with uncontrollable sobs and his heart ached for the homecoming that never was to be. In her last moments, Rae Sloane had only thought of him. Hux would never have the chance to thank her.

* * *

 

In the high window of the Scaparus Keep, a pair of cold eyes watched Armitage Hux move from the corner of the garden and disappear into castle entry.

“Captain Motti,” Tarkin said, turning to the young solider guarding the door, “tell me, is there anything of interest along the west wall?”

“Not that I am aware of, sir.”

“And yet, Lord Armitage seems to go out to the same spot every few days, for five minutes at most, and then scurry back into the castle.”

“I,” Captain Motti nervously licked his lips as he searched for an answer. “Well…”

“Look into it,” Tarkin commanded, “send your men to investigate that spot.”

“To look for what exactly, sir?”

“I am certain you will find something,” Tarkin said with a small chuckle, “surprise me.”

“Yes, sir.”


End file.
